Feeling Lost
by SonicCrazyGal
Summary: The studio was hardly ever quiet, but the few times it is the ink creatures within have little to do but spend it within their own thoughts. ONESHOT


The old abandoned studio could be called many things, such as spooky, haunted, cursed, some would even call it a hell on earth. Yes, the studio could be called many things, but no one ever claimed it was quiet. The old rotting boards constantly creaked and groaned. Projectors flickered with power that still somehow ran through the studio and ink was constantly dripping from the many pipes. There were rubbingly machines and grinding gears, weaving a constant hum into the very walls of the studio. And of course, there were the ink creatures that inhabited the studio.

There were so many of them wandering the lower levels of the studio and none of them had ever known true silence. Searchers could be heard constantly groaning from almost every ink puddle and they were willing to attack anything that got too close. The larger and stronger ink creatures would often fight each other, squabbling over territory, or supplies, or even just the right to survive. Those that were more intelligent would plan and try and outmaneuver others.

There was hardly ever a peaceful moment, but every now and then, there would be a few hours where there was no fighting. The ink creatures would retreat to their own claimed corners of the studio, usually to rest and gather energy for the next wave of fighting that would undoubtedly take place. But sometimes during these relatively quiet hours, contemplative thoughts and wishes would rise in the minds of the ink creatures…

In the old music department, an inky figure is a hidden way in his sanctuary. It had once been a place where he could get away from it all and create the music he loved. But the creativity he once prided himself having had been stripped away over the years of pain and misery. Very little thought remain other than finding a way to please his savior. He was in constant pain as his body struggled to maintain its ink form while at the same time trying to reject it for the abomination it was. It hurt… it wasn't right…he wanted out… he wanted out! He wanted to be free! He needed to be free…. He was so tired… so… so tired… He had to appeal to his savior and then the pain would finally stop.

Hidden behind a heavy metal door, a cartoon wolf stared at the college he had made over his… lives? Was he ever truly alive? He knew he had been torn apart and brought back many times. Was he even the same… toon? Person?.. that he had even started out as? No… no one could go through what he had and still be the same. Was he a monster? Was he the same as those that were responsible for his many corpses? He didn't know anymore…if he ever did… All he knows that he was broken and so close to being permanently shattered. He can barely muster up the courage to leave for supplies when he needed to anymore. He was terrified that there will be one day he'll walk out and never come back…

Within the lower levels of the studio, an angel studies her reflection from safely within her fortress of a sanctuary. She had been working so hard but she was still not perfect. Half her face was still deformed and making her feel hideous. Disgusted, the angel turned away, fighting back tears that were threatening to spill. She has to be perfect, _needs_ to be perfect. It is only with perfection will she finally be accepted, that she'll finally be happy. Wiping away the one tear that had managed to escape, the angel squared her shoulders with renewed determination. She was so close now… she couldn't let anything stop her from becoming the Alice Angel she was meant to be. Dreams come true Susie… She briefly paused at that thought, wondering if she even could consider herself Susie after all she's been through and all she's done. She guessed it didn't really matter. Once she was perfect, everything would finally be right and wonderful. Once she was perfect…

Wandering the inky maze of level fourteen, an ink creature with a projector for its head meticulously maintained the many projectors running throughout the halls. He barely remembered who he was most days, but maintaining the machines helped keep at least a part of him sane. Sometimes when he would watch the cartoons that played, he would get flashes of memories, of the band playing, of seeing people happy for a job well done… but they never lasted and they slipped away even as he tried to hold onto them. Then he would always be back to wandering, seeking something he didn't know… maybe never know…

Even deeper in the studio, a group of ink creatures huddled together. Several wept over their cursed existence as they tried desperately to cling to the humanity they still had. Sometimes they would try to comfort each other, but mostly they drowned in their own sorrow and misery. They all desperately hoped that someone…anyone… would free them. That they would finally be saved and at last know peace.

Hidden within one of the rooms where attractions and rides were once designed and created, three toons stood huddled around a burning barrel. Their minds were barely holding together, but the warmth of the fire helped them be a little bit more anchored than the many mindless copies wandering around. The heat washed over their inky limbs, reminding them of something that they were once before. It wasn't much, but it was all they had and they would do all they could to protect it.

Beyond the haunted house a wolf and an angel sat together. Unlike most of the other ink creatures, these two had a pretty strong grasp of who they once were. And while that kept them sane and independent, it also reminded them of all that they had lost and would probably never get back. It was a hopeless situation, but still, they fought on. But there were some days they wondered if it just wouldn't be better to give in and lose themselves completely…

Deep within the heart of the studio, the ink demon studied the cutouts and posters of what was supposed to be his image. The toon was depicted as so happy, so innocent. The ink demon was barely a pale reflection of what he should have been. His permeant grin twitched as he lashed out in anger, tearing apart the poster in front of him. Those stupid things were everywhere in the studio, mocking him with their perfect smiles and reminding him of what he could never be. He would never admit it, even if he could, but there was a part of him that longed to be the toon that was displayed everywhere. A part that wished he could have been truly happy and innocent, but the Liar had made that impossible. Furious, the ink demon opened a portal and headed through. He would do as he always does and spread fear and destruction, trying desperately to fill the gaping hole inside him.


End file.
